Aemond had struck gold.

She couldn't recall the last time she had seen Otto so excited. She hadn't understood it at first, when he loomed over her while she dressed Aemond's wounds and expressed his pride in the boy. Although she could agree that there would be a time for pride, she could not bring it in herself to express it just yet– Aemond had to know that there were consequences for his behavior.

She'd done her best not to scold him so harshly, for she knew it was the last thing he needed when he felt so awful. She'd held him while he cried, stumbling around in a room he thought he had memorized from years of childhood. She kept her hold on a shield as he beat at her with a sparring sword, tripping and swearing when he realized the detriment to his balance.

But when he'd complained about what those bastards had done to him, she had to grip his wrist tight and warn him to watch his mouth. He could've had Vhagar and kept his eye if he hadn't let himself say such a word to them– it didn't matter that it was true, one should not show their cards to the enemy. They all knew what Rhaenyra's boys were, and everyone would not forget it now... not when she went and sequestered herself on Dragonstone. No one would witness whatever great deeds the boys might be capable of, but they would remember the silhouettes topped with dirt brown hair.

Still, she understood what it was that excited Otto so about this, no matter what rifts had been created. Vhagar was larger even than Vermithor, and now they held both dragons. Daella had never thought of it that way. She did now, and imagined what it would look like when Aegon's claim was raised.

Aegon, with the beautiful Sunfyre, behind which would fly Tessarion, Āeksion, Dreamfyre, Vermithor, and now Vhagar. Doubtless, her son Aeneas would claim his soon, and both Alistair and Aemma still stood a chance of having their eggs hatch, lest they claim their own. What did Rhaenyra's sons have to offer? Bastard dragons that would achieve nothing. Perhaps Caraxes and Meleys were formidable, but even they stood no chance against Vermithor alone... and now with Vhagar behind her, she and Aemond would annihilate anyone who stood to oppose them.

In Otto's words, gaining Vhagar had been worth a thousand times the price Aemond paid. She didn't entirely like thinking of it this way– it was still a great loss, particularly knowing how important being a swordsman was to him. Otto was right, however. Aemond could learn to compensate for his lack of an eye... but nothing Rhaenyra did would bring her a dragon like Vhagar.

She wanted to watch Vhagar and Vermithor tear into Syrax's flesh, wanted to watch Rhaenyra beg for mercy. The desire had risen from a dream, where she awoke tasting blood and realized what it meant to want meat again– to crave that richness dripping from her tongue. It took everything in her to keep it secret. How excited she was, to be with child again. And to know that Otto was nearby now, that she would no longer have to endure pregnancies away from him.

Then, Rhaenyra had to strike again. It was so obvious, Daella wanted to poke at her eyes with her nails the way a raven poked at flesh. She'd learned about it soon after returning from Driftmark– Laenor was dead, supposedly killed in a duel in the Hall of Nine, burned and unrecognizable. She didn't want to believe it– she refused. How convenient it had been that Rhaenyra's husband and Daemon's wife were suddenly both dead... for even a week after that, she was hearing news that they were residing together at Dragonstone and had been wed in the custom of Old Valyria.

The anger had affected her more heavily than she cared to admit. She'd been with her children when her belly began to ache. After she'd sent them to their lessons, she'd started to feel nauseated. Light. By the time she thought to go to the maester, the bleeding had begun. And it would not cease.

Gwayne had found her in her room, screaming and crying as she beat her fists into the ground, crouched over a mound of sheets that gathered her blood. The tea Maester Orwyle had given her was drunk, but the cup was smashed to bits beside her. Her husband hugged her, held her arms down to stop her from cutting her hands on the shards. She could hardly breathe– she didn't want him there, she didn't, but she did not have the strength to push him away. She'd never felt this before, never lost a babe. Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra had cursed her, she knew.

She was bedridden for a month, Aemond her constant companion. Her children visited often, but her little brother was the most glued to her side, guiding her to drink her teas while she changed the dressings over his eye. She'd been fragile, too fragile to run around with little Alistair and Aemma. By the next moon, when she was better, she heard a rumor that Rhaenyra was with child– her first child with Daemon. Sure to look far different from those accursed bastards she had with Harwin.

"Can't something be done?" she said to Otto, weary as she sat in his study and watched him write. She noticed how he did not glance at her. She pressed on, "What if we were to call a Great Council? Forced it upon my father or called it the moment he passes?"

Still, his gaze did not flicker up at her. Daella tried again, tried to show him she was being clever, tried to insist that she had a good idea. "We could gather the lords, the Maesters, the men of the Faith. Tell them we believe the King erred in upholding Rhaenyra as heir. Offer the alternatives– my brothers, my sons. After all, any of them could marry the girls to strengthen their claims. Let the Realm vote, let them decide. Rhaenyra would have to accept what the majority decides."

"It is not so simple," said Otto without looking her way. He was so focused on whatever he was doing, it bothered her. He'd never ignored her like that. "But it is to be considered."

Her fist met the edge of the desk harder than she meant it to. The hard rap finally made him lift his gaze– but not his entire head. "What?" He asked it in a tone equivalent to what was used with a child, not with the mother of his children.

Her lip turned up in anger, in betrayal. He doesn't want me anymore, not now that I have shown I cannot carry children as easily as I once did. Perhaps the distance had been their salvation. "You've tired of me, have you?" She asked what she knew he would not answer with words. Only with the way he did not say anything at all did she get her answer... he would not admit the truth that she knew.

She scoffed, then laughed mirthlessly. "You've no use for me as an informant anymore. You're still upset I didn't betrothe Aelora to Jace. You're upset I went rogue when I had Lyonel and Harwin killed. You loathe that I lost our child and now that Aemond has Vhagar and much else has changed, you wish to focus on this war you are planning."

"I told you," he said too calmly, "That I would not tolerate failure from you. That if you did not contain your anger and do as you were told, you'd be removed. That if I could not trust you, you were a loose end to be tied. I am here now. There is no more need for your foolishness. Your anger towards your sister continues to cloud your judgement towards the rightful path. If you did not loathe her so, you would have realized betrothing Aelora to Jacaerys was useful."

"I've been loyal to you," she retorted. "I've done everything for you. I stayed in this miserable city because you wanted me here."

"I did. And you have served your purpose. If you are to stay, then it will be to finish raising the children, to prepare them for what must be done. At my instruction, not your own. I will not have you be our ruin because your focus is blurred by fury."

She stood up abruptly, far faster than she should have considering how weak her body had been. She staggered against the desk, a hand flying to hold her tender abdomen. She saw fear in his eyes, she saw him reach out to catch her, his instinct to protect her. Daella snatched her arm away, turning aside and storming out of his solar. She would not be returning here, she knew. Somehow, she knew she would not miss it. Her respect for his wit did not need to translate into any trivial sort of love– she had never loved him, she had only craved him. Cravings could be sated elsewhere.

Still, she had done as he said. She focused on her children, on her siblings. On being there for Helaena once it was announced that Aegon would take her to wife. On helping Aemond learn to listen to his other senses when he had one less eye. Aegon, she kept on a tight schedule of cupbearing and lessons in politics. At Otto's insistence, she'd scheduled them an hour a day to discuss the happenings of the kingdom alone. One way or another, the boy would be made ready.

With her own children, she emphasized what Aeneas had already demonstrated in Driftmark– defending one's own. Aeneas and Alistair would be fierce swordsmen and would wield knives as she did– whatever it took to defend their blood. Aelora was to do all she could to help her little sister's dragon Āeksion grow and develop her own skills in any way she could. Daella left her in the library to discover her path– where she wanted her intelligence to grow. Little Aemma would be exempt for now, but eventually, Daella wanted her to be as fierce as her siblings, too, particularly once she was large enough to ride Āeksion. No excuses.

As the years passed, she saw them grow into exactly what they had to be to support Aegon in his rule... or be posed as prime candidates themselves. Aegon, the little babe she remembered holding while he fell asleep, grew into a man of twenty who remained so full of life. He wasn't the best with a sword... or with much, really. But he knew how to light up a room. He had many friends who enjoyed his company, and it was up to Daella to make sure none of them drank themselves to death– a bit of enjoyment was fine, their father always did that, but too much was unseemly for a prince.

It had taken work to stop him from wanting to go to brothels, but she'd eventually impressed on him that if she ever– everfound out he'd fathered bastards, then she was going to be sure to make him responsible for the child. That had curbed any curiosity quickly, as he was not one to want anything to do with other children. He was a good father to his own two, which had been born only a year prior. The twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, were his great joy, and had caused a change in him.

Daella saw the way he doted on the babes, how he carried them in his arms and put them to sleep when Helaena needed her rest. She was eighteen now, ever beautiful and as shy as she'd been as a girl. Aegon brought her flowers daily, sometimes sitting with Daella and Aelora while they listened to Helaena muse about her bug collection. They flew together often, the pair of them, and had already taken the babes into the sky. Daella made sure that Aegon and the children were seen accompanying Helaena to the sept, ensuring the people themselves would witness their future King and his Queen being faithful and devoted to one another.

Aeneas and Aemond had turned seventeen that year, and were quite the formidable pair. Perhaps Aemond seemed more intimidating from the perspective of someone who did not really know them, as he flew on Vhagar low over the city, eliciting shouts of excitement from the smallfolk. Aeneas did not yet have his dragon, but he was perhaps better with his sword than his uncle, and was far less brooding. Aemond remained serious, clinging to his honor and faith the way Alicent did. He was clever, yes, but Aeneas was well-studied, well-spoken, always honest, and quite cunning. He stopped at nothing to reach his goals, and was the sort of charming young man that every lady fawned over at court. Of all the young princes in the castle, Aeneas was the most admired and asked about.

Aelora had grown tall and beautiful at sixteen, always sweet to those she spoke with, and still fierce when necessary. She was very close with Helaena and motherly towards the twins, but never lost her spirit. She ran around with the boys in the yard, and was as good with knives as Daella. Alistair was as curious as Daeron in Oldtown, always following Maester Orwyle around. Daella often found her fifteen-year-old son in the library. Little Aemma remained mischievous at fourteen, but loved to fly on Āeksion and was passive in matters concerning her siblings– she followed Aelora the most, but certainly held a great admiration for Aeneas and Alistair.

Daella was proud to see them becoming their own people, proud to see that they would not endure the pain that she had at their age, that they cared for each other and would become adults in a kingdom that would provide for them all that she wished she had. Aegon would be a good king... soon, in fact. Her father's decline had taken a steep turn in the last several years, to the point that Daella was sure he would not be with them much longer. She had made her peace with it. In his states of delirium, he hardly recognized her, but she did what she could to tell him of Aegon's progress anyway– let him know how good his son was, how kind of a king he would be.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had not visited since Dragonstone. Instead, she sequestered herself there, having birthed two sons by Daemon– Aegon and Viserys. A cruel stab to name her son Aegon, as their brother was, when she never acknowledged him. She knew it was Daemon's choice, of course– her father had named Aegon so for the little brother they both lost. Daella still didn't like it one bit. She hoped Rhaenyra and her bastards would never come back.

She enjoyed the castle without Rhaenyra. None of those twitchy little handmaidens or that dull Maester Gerardys to make Daella want to gouge her eyes out. Those that surrounded her were those that believed what she did, that Viserys erred every day that he did not change his succession.

Her relationship with Otto had not rekindled in the way they once had it– she'd never again bedded him. But she was glad that she had never loved him, for it still allowed her to speak to him about matters concerning their plan. She'd been cold with him the first several weeks, but in the absence of his warmth found that Gwayne remained ever the devoted husband– even kinder and more physically affectionate since her miscarriage.

The beast within her could not be sated with Gwayne's still-too-few touches, however. She'd had to find someone else to bring to her bed when she had need to release her anger, her tension, her passion. Now that Otto had disappointed her, she knew she needed a man who would listen to her rants without criticism, who would seize control or relinquish it as she preferred.

She thought of men who were not there often, visiting lords that were known to have lovers in other parts of the Realm. None suited her tastes, however, and she found she did not like the idea of a man who would not be able to come right as she called. It had to be someone in the castle, someone who she could have come to her chambers anytime she was excited or infuriated. And of course, it could be no idiot knight to fuck simply for the sake of it. It had to be someone of importance, someone worthy of her.

The first candidate she had tried for was Lord Jasper Wylde. They called him 'Ironrod' for being so unbending when it came to the law, but she knew the moniker came from court fools speaking on his member, for he'd had many wives and many children. She'd noticed lust in his eyes when she first began her flirtatious approaches, but she was not satisfied with his inability to give her reason in a conversation. The first time she had tried to rant to him about Rhaenyra, he'd been as rational as Otto, speaking calmly but firmly on her 'petulance' when it came to her sister. She'd snapped at him that he was lucky she hadn't drawn her knife to make him a eunuch, and had left it at that.

Then, she had wondered whether Larys Strong would be a good servant for the long-term. She could tolerate his strange fascination with her feet if he let her ride him the way she had the day they agreed to have Harwin and Lyonel killed. He wasn't her favorite, though, for he too was dismissive of her feelings and liked to pretend he knew so much more than she did. In the end, she realized she wanted him more as an informant, who would have her the way he had that day onlywhen she truly needed him to do something for her. He could be satisfied in other ways for smaller tasks.

At last, she found the perfect man. One she knew understood not having his voice heard and craving the acknowledgement most were too stupid to give. She'd realized it one day in the Small Council, when she saw him lifting a finger to insert himself where other men would simply shout. After a conversation in the gardens where he heavily complimented her, she knew he was as malleable as she needed... with the right family name attached to him.

Tyland Lannister became her plaything, and she was fine with being his. He knew how to listen and knew how to add to her fire, knew even what it was like to be overshined by a far more extroverted older sibling. She sensed that Jason and Rhaenyra were not too different from one another when it came to being so pompous... perhaps they would have been a great match after all.

He'd made their arrangement solidify the day after she first bedded him, and decided she liked it. In the moment where she'd been slipping her smallclothes back on, he'd told her that he never imagined himself marrying or having children. He was a second son, he knew he had to fight to get his own way in the world– he did not have the luxury of settling down, for what did he really have to give them? He was clever, he'd studied while Jason was out in the yard learning to kill men. Tyland had learned, in time, but he'd been slow to develop the strength and charm that his brother was known for. He said that all he'd ever wanted was for his parents to tell him that he was just as good as Jason, that he, too, was worthy even if the gods had let his brother be born first.

He'd taken her hand as it rested against her thigh, ran his fingers over the stretch marks on her hips from her four pregnancies. He'd told her she was beautiful, that he had always seen that though his brother had vied for Rhaenyra's hand. He told her that even before she began dressing as richly as her sister, he thought her humble and sweet– and she had been, before Rhaenyra pushed her too far. Then, out of nowhere, he whispered that he didn't think she'd ever be satisfied until the world saw that she was better than Rhaenyra. At first, the comment made her want to sneer. Then, he told her that even if the world did not see it, he did. She'd kissed him and fucked him again for it– when had Otto everacknowledged her that way?

He was devoted to her and only her. His thoughts towards their cause were the same, and he'd been more than happy to take Alistair as his squire upon her insistence. He was not as cold as Otto nor as rigid as Lord Jasper, not as faithful as Gwayne nor as sneaky as Larys. He was a perfect candidate for her needs, one that she hoped to keep by her side forever. Perhaps she should have married him... he was twin brother to the Lord of Casterly Rock, not nephew to the Lord of the Hightower as Gwayne was.

"Do you know what the stupidest part of this is?" She questioned it while she lit the candles in her bedroom, watching him draft a letter in her solar. As their Master of Ships, it was he who was keeping an eye on the health of Lord Corlys, who had recently been injured in an ambushed and succumbed to a fever none knew if he would survive. His brother, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, had called into question the succession of Driftmark... a plot that had Otto's stench all over it. Naturally, Rhaenyra had announced she would be coming to court to see about this matter, given her son Lucerys was in line to inherit the Driftwood Throne if Lord Corlys passed.

Tyland looked up at her– he always looked, even when he was frustrated. Not like Otto, who had ignored her whenever he pleased. It had once been a game for her, but it had not been enough in the later years. She liked that Tyland wanted to please her. "What is it?"

"She's not been seen at court in nigh eight years," said Daella. "All anyone remembers about her bastard boys is that their hair was shit brown and their noses were as big and fat as that of a knight being beat by Breakbones himself in the yard. How obvious it will be that the boys look no more Targaryen now than they ever did. She comes to claim that Lucerys is a trueborn grandson of Lord Corlys... but anyone who looks at the boy will know that the boy's closest drop of Velaryon blood is that of Alyssa Velaryon, wife of Aenys."

"She is foolish," he agreed, "to rely upon oaths made decades prior, before anyone knew she would not take this duty seriously. The succession would not be in question if she had produced children that were even somewhat integrated in House Velaryon's household. Instead, she sends Daemon's daughter to ward there and shelters her boys at Dragonstone. Can any of them even sail? Do they even like the sea?"

She scoffed in agreement. "It was so painfully obvious that she had Laenor killed so she might marry Daemon. And everyinformant I've heard come in and out of Dragonsotne says the same– her boys with him look every bit Valyrian. If Lucerys looked like that, she might've stood to hide it better. But you are right... I don't think the boys even really know this 'grandsire' of theirs. You know, my sister was sullen and stubborn, she did not take her duty seriously when it came to marrying for an alliance and for honor. If she did not want that path, why not refuse it? She could've asked my father to let her marry for love– and tried harder, at that– and let Aegon be heir. She created her own ruin by spreading her legs for Harwin Strong. That much will become obvious."

She went to sit on his lap, earning a small sigh but no further protest as he set aside his quill. "Vaemond is a strong ally," she said. "He has two boys about the same age as my children. If he were to become Lord of Driftmark, I am sure his boys would need brides."

He knew what she was thinking. "If we follow through with your plan to marry one of your boys to Jason's daughters... then we could marry one of your daughters to Vaemond's sons. Little Aemma likes the sea, does she not?"

"She likes to fly low over the water, yes. She is fourteen... adventure always calls to her. Āeksion likes the feeling of the salt water against his wings..." She leaned in to whisper in his ear, "About as much as I like the splash of blood on my skin. And I feel it comes nearer. Vaemond's question of the Velaryon succession will draw into play a question of Jacaerys's claim to the Iron Throne... it is almost time for us to do what we have set out to. I've been speaking to me father through his delirium... he mentions Aegon's name, though I cannot understand his other musings."

Daella felt him tense, wondering if the light from the candles made her eyes look like they were on fire. "I think we are getting close. Blood will run... and my brother will be King."